Thursday, December 10, 2009

Full Of It


It's no secret now that I intend to be buried in a Chock-Full-O-Nuts coffee can. I hope Becky can join me. Be a great eternity in there, kind of cozy, intimate . . . .

Well . . . but as I think about what I'd like to have written as an epitaph, several come to mind. I'll keep these handy . . . they'd fit perfectly on the sixteen ounce size.

It's true--death comes to every man.
But he's not gone, he's just visiting the can.

OR

He was a writer who never knew ruts . . .
He never burned out, he was just chocked-full-o-nuts.

OR

Becky always said, "He was a great lover."
But how would she know, never having another?

OR

He wrote his own words and his own epitaph
Just so he could say he had the last laugh.

OR

Inside this can you'll find the man
But he's gone for eternity.
And all he can say on judgment day
Is he's shorter than he used to be.

OR

There's nothing left of his charm and good looks
After we bury the can we're burning his books.

No comments: